Every once in a while Catherine and I get accidentally transported out of the hoi polloi and invited to party with Charlottetown’s elites. As the city lacks for wealthy industrialists, the elites here are mostly dentists and judges. A few politicians. And Tim Banks. Last night was one such.
Regular readers may recall that two years ago I took Mr. Banks to task for being a megalomaniac. Last night was my first time sitting couch-to-chair with him in a social setting, and, to my surprise and delight, he neither gave me the finger, tore anything off the wall, nor threatened to replace my comfortable couch with an office tower. He was actually somewhat aloof, and didn’t appear to have it in him to rip out my still-beating heart and eat it for breakfast. What a relief.
By fortunate happenstance, among the elites in attendance at last night’s party were several people I knew, so I was spared the indignity of hiding in the corner nursing my drink while my arch nemesis scattered bon mots to those that would listen. Oh, and there was absolutely amazing tzatziki to boot. If not for the presence of cats and their attendant dander, which saw me lose my ability to speak at any volume after about 45 minutes, it would have been a perfect night.
Tonight we will resume our regular mundane life of Seinfeld reruns and being entertained by G. about his adventures in the Hindu Kush.